Forgotten Demigods
by L0llyp0p
Summary: Many mortal's lives have been touched by the gods, yet only a few have touched a gods. This is the tale of those few particular's
1. The Lyre and the Serpant

**Hey **

**So this is basically part of my english course work and I really enjoyed writting this so I decided to put this up on fanfiction.**

**Anyway Enjoy !**

**=)**

* * *

Apollo steps back from the party taking place in the throne room and wonders of to his own private garden. Sighing he sits down next to a pond filled with closed fiery red flowers.

He was usually the life of the party and he should be celebrating, his sister was saved from the titans , the threat of Kronos was becoming more apparant and he hadnt been blasted for helping Percy on his quest by Zeus but he couldnt bring himself to celebrate fully.

Trailing his fingers in the water he comes to the conclusion, that what is troubling him is the gril, the one that Percy met at the Hoover Damn. The girl called Rachael who reminds him so much of a loved one.

Reaching out Apollo touches one of the flowers and it opens to reveal it full magnificance but then slowly it darkens before turning in to pure black. Apollo sighs that was the curse of his loved one and the flowers that he had created in her honour followed the same pattern.

She made him promise that he would never visit her in Elysium yet the temptation was often to much.

Apollo tries to conjure up an image of her, flaming red hair and unwavering grey eyes but as he tries to conjure up the image in the water nothing appears.

Sighing in defeat, Apollo runs his hand through his hair, it was no use. Even after a milllenia she was still determined to block him, though this was one of the things he loved about her, her unwavering determination.

* * *

Troy is burning and the daughter of Priam is standing in the ruined temple of Apollo with the figure of the wooden horse behind her, the epitome of the Trojans defeat .When the soldiers come storming in, the princess of Troy just stands there looking at every single Greek solider in disdain. Her head held high.

I hover nearby, like a deer in the under growth, ready to disappear at a moment's notice, ready to help if needed. Cassandra, the most beautiful daughter of Priam, despite the odds, she can feel my presence and she turns to face me, her eyes hard with determination. She is proud and always doesn't want my help.

She doesn't flinch, unlike her sisters, who are cowering behind her, when the soldiers leer over their bounty. Her face remains stoic even after seeing the battle field below and so many of the Trojans dead or captured. Her façade breaks slightly when the bodies of her fallen brothers are placed in my temple, their blood staining the pristine marble with traces of death.

The Queen and Princess' of Troy fall, repainting their dresses in the death of their loved ones. Her mother Hecuba the head of Priam, her husband and the rest of Cassandra's sisters mourn over their loss, but she stands strong, her features hardens into a stoic mask with tears running down her cheeks and her hands clenched.

Looking at Cassandra like this, holding on desperately to the broken pieces of her family, ready to be made to slaves and concubines of the greedy Greeks, breaks my heart and makes me feel an incredible amount of sorrow.

My blessing was always on Troy, I helped Paris' arrow find home in the former Achilles. I blessed many of the sons that fought for Troy and I loved the mad prophetess. In my courtship I offered her the gift of prophecy to win her affections and to return my favour she rejected me and threw me away. In my anger I cursed her making prophecies true, but they only fell on deaf ears. She would go round telling the truth but she was scorned and made fun of. Only now do they wish they'd listened to her.

She was too proud to accept any love; including a god's but she, especially has no right to be treated like this. She had repaid her rejection in the loss of her family. Even now, after all hope is lost, I want to help, to comfort her. In my desperation, my fingers brush past her hair and she stiffens in my presence. The glare she sends my way pierces my heart, but I am proud. Proud of her unwavering courage.

* * *

The lots are made, for which Princess is to go to which king, but at soon as they're handed over, their to the greedy soulless eyes of the Kings. Their title is lost and they become slaves, as worthless as the ashes of Troy.

Cassandra's lot is picked, Agamemnon of Mycenae. Shock falls over the tatters of Priam's house, like honey clinging to them. He is by far the worst, a greedy, arrogant man with cold eyes and no ghost of a smile on his lips. He looks at Cassandra like a piece of gold, not necessary but one that will win many admirers. I want to shoot him down, just like any other scoundrel but I am stopped, the gods have interfered enough.

All the women have been handed out except one, Polyxena. She stands there frightened poised ready to run as Acteon did but she won't get far she will be ripped apart by the equivalent of the hero's hounds, the Greeks.

Phyruss ruthlessly grabs her by the arm, his eyes glittering maliciously like a snake, and drags her over to his father, the once great Achilles' grave and in one swift movement like the ruthless serpent he is, slits her throat causing the bloodshed on Trojan land.

Shock falls over the crowd, suffocating them. Cries of anguish break the silence, the fallen Queen and Princesses of Troy plummet to the ground, repainting their dresses with blood. Suddenly the wind picks up and murmurs spread through the crowd like wild fire and at the centre of that fire is Cassandra.

Who storms up to the murderer, but before she can do anything. She is knocked backwards and a red weal appears on her face and the mocking face of Phyruss. Lying there dejected she curses the man and then does the what every man fears she foresees' his fate. The crowd is silent and then one nervous laugh erupts and the rest follow, the curse has still held but maliciousness glitters in her eyes, she knows she is true and he will fall like heroes before him.

* * *

The ship is nearing the dock of Mycenae, and there is waiting crowd to welcome home their king, from a bitter war but for Cassandra, to be separated from all kindly face this homecoming is a curse but one she takes well. Another prophecy has been sent her one of her and Agamemnon's death and as she stands there next to the King, she warns him again of what I showed her, but he won't believe it he never will until it happens.

A fanfare goes up as they land in Mycenae. Agamemnon's wife, Clytemnestra comes and pledges her loyalty and welcomes the king home with open arms, but there are lies in her words and when she looks at Cassandra, her eyes are full of vengeance. Cassandra looks at her warily knowing the Queen is the one who causes her death but doesn't make any move, it would be foolish a child's play you cannot change 's fate has been decided, and not even the gods or I can

* * *

The stifling heat keeps the once princess awake, who is next to the content king with his belly full of the riches of Greece. Her face turns to the moonlight, her tears reflecting in the ghostly light, her lips moving silently, a prayer to my sister Artemis for courage in the dark of this time.

I am compelled to stay, to see my love's death maybe I want vengeance but or that I want to be with her till the end. The fragility of human lives, her life, made my heart cry silently. The door creaks and opens. Cassandra's lips stop. It is time. I drift even closer.

Cassandra turns to face her godly lover and smiles because she won't be facing this alone. It fills her with the courage she asked for. Taking a look at the malicious glint in Clytemnestra's eyes and the harsh gleam of the blade, she does not quiver.

Next to her, the King stirs but before he can call the guards, his wife has the blade against his throat causing a thin line of blood to appear, this makes him stop, plead and quiver, but it is no use. His throat is slit by the malicious queen, kingly blood staining the hands of the victim trying to cling on to his cowardly life.

Cassandra looks at the body of her master but not in pity but with disdain. Her gaze moves to the murderess' face, her head held proudly high. She will not quiver or whimper plead like the coward whose blood the blade last touched. No, she will take this gracefully and defiantly like a Princess of Troy would do. The blade falls on her as it did for the many brave men whose names will fall into oblivion.


	2. AN

**Hey I'm sorry this isnt an update as i am busy and have no time but I am going to start writing but I need help with that as **

**1. I need a beta reader as my grammar is appaling**

**2. need to know what do to next**

**which is** **you guys come in as I am going to set up a poll with some options so they are**

**Iphegenia's story told by Artemis**

**Aridane's story told by Bacchus**

**these are the one with gods but I cant match up these stories with particular gods so if you could please help me out with thus they are:**

**Antigone**

**Meadea**

**Narcissus and Echo**

**Philemon and Balcuis**

**Meleager and the Calydonian Boar**

**Teiresias**

**So please review your opinion and vote!**

**Thanks**


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